Burns Over Helmets
by HotPizzaRollsMMM
Summary: Pyro has recently suffered a severe burn scar on his face. Soldier tries to distracts Pyro with training, but seems to grow connected to him through it.


**A/N Hello! This is my first fanfic, so do not be surprised if you find any errors (I love to make up my story along the way). English is not my first language.**

RED Pyro and Engineer both lay on the coarse flour sacks under the provided shade from the wavy metal rustic roof. The crickets let out a loud, constant chirp as the blinding light reflected on everything that wasn't coated by shade. The afternoon summer heat of 2Fort was a Hellish one.

Engi had brought himself a precooled crate of Red Shed bottled beer whilst Pyro crayoned on the backsides of stolen used contract papers. They settled down and watched the day pass by as they patrolled the outer barn of the base. The weekly look out was necessary for wandering BLUs, but they haven't seen one meanwhile they patrolled for, what was it... 6 months?

The firestarter beside the labourer loved anything bright and colourful. He coloured his papers and drawing in a mass of pink, light green and sky blue, with the rest of his crayons either coated in dust or lost somewhere in a dump. He displayed his drawings proudly to the mercs right in front of their faces, where he would later stick it on the fridge next to his other drawings, layered ontop of each other. You couldn't blame him, there was not much to do in this place but mostly quarrel, murder and death, you had to keep yourself sane somehow.

…

A few hours had passed and the sun was almost setting, the sky now mixing between warm and dark cold colours. Engi packed his building and stuffed in back neatly into its toolbox. He clicked the side of his mouth twice, creating a 'chk, chk' noise, indicating the fire boy to grab what he had brought with him. "Come on, Pyro, we ain't got time ta' waste. 'sides, yer cooking t'night aren't cha?"

Pyro picked up his crayons and drawings with care and caught up with the Texan. The drawing he had in progress was his most proud one, probably even his best. His rush of catching up caused him to drop his signature and most valued pink crayon. The sound of Engi chattering with the firebug distracted Pyro from the small 'Tock!' noise the crayon had created as it hit the plank. The gentle cold breeze pushed against the tiny crayon and slipped between the plank gaps, dropping into a dark pit. Pyro then folded his drawing neatly, bundled his crayons and placed them into his empty ammunition bags.

Engi unlocked the door leading into the RED's inner base, walking in to be greeted by the rest of the mercs in the living room, except for Sniper, who had decided to spend the night in his van. Scout was on the TV as always, watching the childish cartoons. Pyro had the urge to dive into the couch and join the Bostonian, but was stopped in his tracks by the Engi who had reminded him of cooking before he could even take a step into the living room. Pyro's collar was pulled by the Engi who dragged him to the dining room and into kitchen. Sure, Pyro enjoyed spending time cooking for the others, but he just wanted to relax and put everything to the back of his mind for the moment.

Preparing himself, he put on an unnecessary apron and heated the stove. Though the firebug couldn't control the amount of flames his weapons spat out in battle, he was pretty gentle with smaller fire starting tools. Cooking was a hobby for Pyro, mostly because the methods of creating an amazing dish always required some sort of fire. However, cooking for the men was quite a pain. You had to cook everything at the same time and create multiple of the same thing. Cooking different foods separately meant that the food was going to turn cold.

(Please know that I am not a cook and I have very little experience of how a food is MEANT to be cooked. So don't be surprised if you follow the steps of what Pyro did to cook and turn up with an illness the next day/week.)

Pyro unwrapped the frozen defeathered and beheaded hen from the foil and laid its back on a flat porcelain plate before settling it into the microwave for 11 minutes to defrost. Meanwhile, he preheated the stove to a 350°C set on grill. He removed the two oven trays inside and set them on the counter, placing a clean sheet of aluminum foil over one and filled the other halfway with water. He reached for the large kettle filled with water and let it sit on the flame of the stove.

He layout the needed plates and silverware for each of the mercs in a neat line. He took the tea cups from their drawers and placed them into his apron that he had curled into a small pouch. He placed them close to the silent kettle. He took out a large and small porcelain bowl and rested a little chunk of butter into the small bowl. He reached into a drawer for his trusty blow torch and set it on a low flame then slowly liquidifying the butter into a runny yellow substance. He poured the whole of the butter into the larger bowl and poured 3 cups of milk into it before whisking it hard to create a soft mix of heavy cream. He rested it in the fridge and let it cool down.

The tea cups were filled quarter way with ground coffee and sugar except for two cups. One which was for the sniper, as he preferred his coffee without sugar and the second one was for Pyro since hot chocolate was his all time favourite drink. In a spare bowl from under the counter, he poured a mix of evaporated milk, condensed milk, four eggs and a teaspoon of vanilla extract, whisked until it formed into a yellow tinted runny paste. He placed another pot on the stove and set to low, pouring one cup's worth of sugar into the pot.

He cleansed the small bowl of the butter grease and mixed together salt, paprika, pepper, olive oil, garlic, onion, parsley and a bit of Demoman's scrumpy. The microwave let out a constant beep, similar to of the Texan's turrets, but a lot more irritating and loud. The chicken was done, not too frozen nor cooked inside. Cutting into the chicken was no problem. Separating the breasts, legs and wings and then slicing the body in half barely took effort. He removed and trashed the bones, letting what was left of the chicken coat in the pool of marinade, Pyro moving around the meat to ensure that every spot of chicken skin was to be covered by the sauce.

The kettle was about done boiling the large contents of water inside and let out a continuous scream of highly pitched whistling, signaling that it had done its job heating the water. Pyro lifted the lid from the kettle to release its steam and quickly but efficiently filling the cups halfway through with hot water except for Sniper's which had been filled thoroughly. The pot that had sat beside the kettle melted the sugar from before and turned it into a glossy thick substance of caramel. He poured the contents into another bowl (Geez how many bowls has Pyro used now) and moved the caramel around to coat the inside walls and base of the bowl a layer of the molten sugar and let it sit in the refrigerator to cool down. Then, he patiently waited for the chicken to marinate and the caramel to cool.

Scout sat on couch, his pants and ass probably stuck to it now. It was only at the time he stood up that he realised how damn hungry he was. He looked around at the mercs who seemed to be enjoying themselves. Engi and Soldier were playing Jenga. Soldier was at a straight streak of losses since the start of the game, but continued to play with the man just to be beside him. Heavy and Medic was at the opposite side of the room playing their board game of chess. Heavy too was losing but stayed for the same reason as Soldier did. Spy sat next to the window occasionally taking deep puffs of smoke from his cigarette. Before Scout could get the chance to step out of the living room to take a peak at the cooking of Pyro, he face planted into the ground when a gloved hand pulled on his foot.

"Argh!" Scout sat back up to cover his bruised nose and wipe away at the blood coming out of his nose with his bandaged hands. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Look, I know where yer goin' boy, and it ain't the time yet. Just sit yer ass back down and continue your business until the firestarter is finished with his work, will ya?" Scout shuffled back to the couch and switched the cartoon to a News Channel.

After Pyro had been done looking through the layers of his drawings stuck onto the fridge, he placed the pieces of orange toned chicken onto the foil of the oven tray in rows. He placed the tray of meat back into the oven. The sizzling sound from the cooking chicken morsels was loud, but was muffled by the closed oven door. With the bowl of caramel he had cooled down, he poured in the batter and sit the bowl in the middle of the body of water of the remaining oven tray.

The batter he had poured made a slight mess on the floor, but tried not to worry about it. The aroma of cooked meat filled the room. Pyro had no problem taking out the tray with the ready meat with his gloves and lay the tray on a pot stand. There, he transferred the cooked chicken to a larger plate and set it on the table of the dining room. The heavy cream in the fridge was about ready now.

Using a blunt butter knife, Pyro flattened a small layer of cream on every cup except for the cup put aside for sniper. With a small handful, he sprinkled a bit of cinnamon in the center of the cream layers. He stacked the plates on top of each other and placed the bundle of silverware onto the dining table. He sorted each plate to in front of each of the dining room chairs with a spoon, fork and knife included. The coffee was next to be sorted and the flan for desert was put in the oven to cook for an hour. Perfect amount of time to eat before they could finish up with the desert.

Pyro sat down for a moment, pleased with what he had finished. He tried to take a step out from the kitchen to invite the others, but felt his foot take a sudden slip.

He fell back, knocking his head on the sharp sides of the counter. During his free fall, he had knocked the kettle from its place on the stove and landed it onto his chest. The kettle itself was heavy and it still had carried about one liter of water. The still hot water bounced around the kettle and hit against the lid to release a wave of hot water leak into his gas mask through the ventilation holes. The fireboy screamed for help, but only let hot water enter his mouth, gurgling in pain.

Suddenly, blackness took over his sight.

 **A/N I would love reviews! I am encouraged to write stories when I know people actually enjoy what I write.**

 **Also, sorry if this was a boring and short starting chapter. I had to build up some sort of problem during the way :P.**


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